


Sickdays

by Jaysop



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Crying, Emetophilia, Fever, Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickdays, Sickdaysofficial, Sickfic, Spacedogs, Tumblr Prompt, Vomiting, emeto, the usual :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaysop/pseuds/Jaysop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three fics written for tumblr's Sickdays!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strange Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So a little explanation is in order. 
> 
> I have never actually participated in something like this before and I usually don't do very well with deadlines when writing is concerned so I made a goal for myself to at least do 3 out of the 7 prompts and surprise I actually finished them! (I am just as surprised as you really).
> 
> So please enjoy these three little one-shots. They are all non-related but set in the hannigram universe. And, of course, they are all sickfics. 
> 
> 8.6 - some edits for grammar/spelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn’t want to bother Hannibal in the middle of the night when he starts to feel sick to his stomach. Hannibal finds him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for everyone who wanted me to write more sick!Will.

~~~

There was a knock at the door.

“Go’way.”

Another knock. This one a bit more forceful.

“I said…go’way.” Will’s voice came out muffled. “I mean it Hannibal.”

Silence for a moment, until the lock unlatched with a click and the door slowly opened, creaking on its hinges.

“I awoke and you were gone.” Hannibal entered the bathroom shutting the door behind him. He cinched his robe around his waist and sat down on the edge of the tub. “I thought perhaps you were sleepwalking again.”

“Alright…you found me…you can go back to bed now.”

Will was kneeling in front of the toilet, elbows propped up on the rim, holding his head in his hands. Dark curls shook as a chill moved through him.

“It’s ok Hannibal, really. I’m fine. Go back to bed,” Will said, his voice jittery and very unconvincing. He coughed a few times and spit into the water.

Hannibal lowered himself to sit on the cold bathroom floor beside Will. He pushed a hand underneath damp hair, pressed a palm to Will’s forehead and then to his cheek.

“Your heart rate is elevated,” Hannibal’s voice was still thick from sleep, “and your face is flush. By now, you must be starting to feel light headed from the sudden drop in blood pressure.”

“Ugh…” Will  pulled away from Hannibal’s touch and rubbed his eyes. He hung his head closer to the water. “I don’t really need a play by play of…” he was interrupted by a burp, “…of what’s about to happen right now, Hannibal.”

A warm hand was at his bare back rubbing slowly between tensed shoulder blades. “You’re shaking, Will.”

“S’cold in here.”

A bath towel was placed around Will’s shoulders but it didn’t help much. He found it was impossible to control the tremors now. His arms trembled as he gripped the sides of the toilet.

Hannibal settled directly behind him. He rested his head against Will’s back listening to his lungs as they rasped for air.

“Knowing about the physiological response is like being able to tell the future, Will,” Hannibal said, the words heavy with his accent, “You want to take a deep breath right now, you’re body is urging you to open your mouth and take it. You’re beginning to sweat.”

“Ugh…please stop being a doctor for two seconds…”

“You need to be sick.”

“Well…maybe it was something I _ate_.”

That bought Will a few moments of silence. He let out a shaky cough and then spit into the water again.

“We both ate dinner together. I have no discomfort--”

“Of course _you_ don’t,” Will interrupted through gritted teeth. Hannibal inched closer to him, a hand reaching around to rest against Will’s stomach. “Not everyone can handle 30 different spices,” another burp, “in the same meal.”

Will couldn’t see it, but Hannibal looked like he had suddenly been punched in the gut. Brow furrowed, he was listing all the ingredients he had used in their last meal, racking his brain to figure out what could have made Will sick. He had selected everything that morning from the local market. It was all fresh and he couldn’t think of anything that would have--

“Don't worry...I'll live." Will swallowed down another burp before it could surface.

“I will stay with you,” Hannibal said, his voice noticeably smaller, more tender, “until you feel that you can come back to bed.”

Hannibal began to rub his stomach. Will’s first instinct was to push his hand away. The weight of it was too much. Every touch was intensified. He was about to tell him to back up, to give him some space, but before the words could come out Will retched, expelling nothing but air.

He tried to stay very still, fighting hard against the urge to gag that sat at the back of his throat.

“It’s alright,” Hannibal cooed, still listening to Will’s labored breaths, rubbing slow circles across his swollen stomach. “It will be over soon enough.”

Will moaned, head hanging low over the water, sweat beginning to drip from the tips of brown curls. Hannibal felt the quiver and spasm of every muscle in Will’s back as he retched, very vocally this time. The sound he made was loud and ragged. It echoed off the sides of the porcelain bowl. Another heave had him straining forward, his hair almost dipping into the water. He gasped for air at the end of it.

“Don’t fight against it,” Hannibal said, his voice barely above a whisper, gently guiding Will to straighten up a little with a hand on his chest. His other palm was still flat against Will’s stomach, his breath warm against his neck.

“I don’t want to…I _really_ don’t want to…” Will didn’t mean for his voice to sound so childlike or for his words to waver as much as they did.

“It’s alright. I’m right here.”

Hannibal was close, his strange embrace a constant. Will gagged again, his stomach muscles starting to burn from the effort. Hannibal began to rub them, somehow knowing exactly where they cramped. A shudder ran through him and he retched, finally bringing up a small bit of clear liquid.

“Ugh…it hurts,” Will stuttered. He let go of the toilet to wrap an arm around his stomach, covering Hannibal’s. A sharp cramp had him doubling over. When it subsided, Will was surprised to feel hot tears lining his cheeks.

Hannibal spoke quiet shushes to him as another dry heave racked his already exhausted body. Between a sob and a gasp for air Will retched, finally bringing up the first gush of burning vomit. It poured from him, splashing loudly into the water.

Another stream of vomit followed close after, too soon for him to take a breath. Panic lit up in Will’s eyes as it flowed out of him. He couldn’t breathe. There was no time to breathe, searing pain burning his lungs. A third upheaval, bringing up something thicker, choked him. When it was over he coughed and sputtered, quickly spitting the remnants of it into the water so he could draw in a deep gasp.

“Shhh Will, try to take slow breathes.”

Will tried but his lungs convulsed into sharp gasps instead. There were a few panicked minutes where he kept choking each time he drew in a new breath. When it subsided the gasps turned into miserable sobbing. Hannibal held him, arms still wrapped around his shaky form, his voice steady in his ear, speaking quiet shushes to soothe him.

“It’s alright, Will. I’m right here with you.” And then, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m so sorry…”

Will drew in a shuddering breath and Hannibal felt every moment of it, still listening to the air rush into Will’s lungs.

“I don’t think…I’m done yet…” The words were curled around the hitch of a sob.

His body twisted into another heave. Warm sick splattered into the murky water. Will was shaking violently now, the combination of breathe and body rebelling against him draining away any composure he hoped to keep.

A pained hiccup turned sickly belch preceded another round of vomiting. Hannibal could only hold him now, and he was beginning to feel overwhelmingly guilty about having caused Will such horrible suffering.

Will reeled from the lack of air, and the searing pain that shot through his ribs each time he retched. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping into his eyes but he was too weak to do anything about it. He gagged and it sounded raw. It produced nothing but a whimper from his lips.

Hands were in his hair, pushing the strands that had fallen into his eyes back from his face. Hannibal held a palm to his forehead, coaxing him back up from the water, steadying him as he continued to dry heave. Will strained against the hand that held him up, involuntary spasms making him jerk forward.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok,” Hannibal was speaking softly, “it’s all over. There’s nothing left to give up now. It’s over, Will. It’s over.”

The room was spinning as Will collapsed back into Hannibal’s arms. He closed his eyes, face pressed against the cool silk of the other’s robe.

The bath towel had fallen off of Will's shoulders. Hannibal retrieved it. He began to clean the sickness off him, gentle hands pausing to dry tears with the pad of him thumb.

Head still reeling, Will finally looked up at Hannibal only to see genuine concern swimming in his eyes. He stilled the hands that touched his face.

"I'm ok,” Will choked on the words as they scratched their way out of his throat. He took a long shaky breath. His ribs ached on the exhale.

“I know,” Hannibal soothed. He drew Will close to him, gathered him up on the bathroom floor.

Hannibal held him until the shaking began to slow and then finally stopped altogether. He held him until Will’s breath began to even out and his drowsy head settled heavily against Hannibal’s shoulder. The room was quiet now. Will’s breath puffed hot against Hannibal’s neck as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 “Rest,” Hannibal whispered, unable to stop himself from placing a gentle kiss to the top of Will’s head. “I will watch over you.”

~~~


	2. A Taste For It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will unknowingly drinks Hannibal under the table, and Hannibal tries to keep up with him but fails miserably.

~~~

“Your taste in whiskey leaves _much_ to be desired.” Hannibal slurred the words, drawn out lazy syllables, his accent noticeably thick.

“That hasn’t stopped you from drinking it, has it?”

Will grinned and then finished his own glass, barely pausing before refilling both.

“Well, I _certainly_ wouldn’t want to be _rude_ ,” Hannibal spoke with drunken emphasis. He looked perplexed for a moment, staring into his newly filled glass.

“Of course you wouldn’t.“ Will eyed Hannibal across the table. The other was beginning to look a bit rough around the edges. Will found it amusing if not the slightest bit endearing. “I hope you know that I would _never_ serve you anything less then only the _finest_ American bourbon–”

“With a _turkey_ on the label.”

“A majestic bird,” Will mumbled his voice disappearing into his own glass as he took a long sip. “Don’t worry, you’ll get a taste for it yet I think.”

Hannibal hummed his disapproval but still tipped his glass back. The whiskey warmed its way down his chest and into his stomach. He felt its entire journey.

“Besides,” Will said as he refilled Hannibal’s glass again and topped off his own, “The more you drink the better it tastes. It’s true. It’s a true proven fact.”

The two made eye contact, Will staring over the rim of his glasses. Hannibal had taken to leaning his chin against the heel of his hand, elbow propped up on the table, unsteady and barely keeping him from swaying. His face was rosy warm from the whiskey, a few strands of hair fallen across glassy eyes. Somehow the right side of his collar had flipped up.

Will took it all in and snorted a laugh.

“What?” An offended eyebrow was raised in Will’s direction.

“Nothing, nothing, I just…” Will reached out and turned down Hannibal’s collar, smoothing it with a pat. “There. It was bothering me. Now you look much more dignified.” One last drunken giggle from Will had Hannibal narrowing his eyes.

“You find the idea of me _inebriated_ , funny?” Hannibal asked, running all the words together. Will nodded a yes. “Well, I can assure you, I am not in the least bit–”

“Oh no, Doctor Lecter. You are _drunk_ ,” Will said, about to refill his own glass but then thinking better of it and taking a sip from the bottle instead. “You’re shitfaced. Fucked up. A sloppy mess–”

“I am most certainly not _‘sloppy’_ ,” Hannibal growled. In one swift motion he downed his drink. Just to make a point.

Will took another swig of burning liquor. He let out a pleasured sigh as heat radiated into his chest. Slowly he leaned in towards Hannibal, the bite of whiskey strong on his breath.

“If it’s any consolation, I find you unnaturally attractive when you’re _‘inebriated’_.”

Hannibal was about to say something but soon thought better of it. His vision began to blur, the room swaying around him as if the floor had become liquid, Will splitting into two Wills and then drifting back together again across the table from him. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, hoping that when he opened them again the room would be still and the laws of physics would right themselves.  

They didn’t.

Will tipped the bottle back and finished the last few dregs of its amber contents. Eyes shut again, Hannibal could hear the  liquid sloshing around in the bottle as Will finished it off. The sound made his stomach roll. He swallowed audibly and then forced a thin breath through his nose. It was taking all his effort and concentration not to lose everything right there.

An unexpected burp brought bile mingled with harsh alcohol up his throat. He swallowed hard against it and it made him shudder, his stomach groaning beneath his hand.

The room still insisted on moving in the most dizzying way possible. Hannibal closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool edge of the table. He let out a long moan.

“Hey…” Will said, his voice low, a hand reached out to the other across the table, fingertips grazing his arm. “You feeling alright?”

“Just a bit dizzy…” Hannibal cringed as the words left him. “I think…I need to lie down…”

“Ok, maybe we should call it a night,” Will said gently, coming around to Hannibal’s side of the table. His own vision swam for a moment when he rose to his feet. “Common, let’s go sleep it off.”

Will coaxed Hannibal to get up. He braced himself against the table and then froze, fingers gripping Wills arm deadly tight.

“On second thought…Will…maybe I should stay right he–”

Hannibal’s back stiffened, shoulders scrunched together. He lurched forward and gagged abruptly, a fountain of cloudy liquid spilling from him. It refilled his empty glass and then overflowed onto the table.

Will froze. It took his numbed senses a moment to register what was happening. He stole a quick glance at the empty bottle and then at Hannibal, gasping and panting for air, saliva and vomit dangling from his open mouth. It had admittedly been his plan to get Hannibal good and drunk but this was definitely not what he had in mind. Will’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Oh…Hannibal…”

Hannibal lurched forward, this time with so much force his chair groaned against the wooden floor. He pulled Will along with him, throwing him off balance, nails still digging crescent shaped marks into his arm. Another gush of vomit splattered onto the table.

“Alright,” Will said, attempting to soothe, a bit of guilt welling up in his throat. “This is my fault. I just wanted to get out of my head for a night. And I…”

“Will…I know…my own limits…”

“Oh I’m sure you do,” Will said the sarcasm in his voice heavy as the alcohol on his breath, “and you let me push you past it. Why?”

The sour taste of whiskey and bile choked him. He gagged hard. The sound made Will cringe. Burning hot liquid surged up his throat, pooling onto the table top and beginning to flow off its edge and into his lap.  

“I could have cut you off but I pushed,” Will mumbled, side stepping the sick that threatened to soak into his shoes, “I pushed because I was curious. I wanted to see what would happen,” and then, under his breath, “but I didn’t mean for _this_ to happen.”

Hannibal’s shoulders rolled forward and his back arched up as he heaved. He swayed forward, and Will had to struggle to detach himself from Hannibal’s grip, just in time to catch him by the shoulders.

“Easy,” Will was holding him up now, standing in a puddle of warm vomit, some of it soaking into his shirt where Hannibal leaned against him. Whiskey warmed fingertips met cool clammy skin as Will touched his face. Still gasping for air, Hannibal turned his eyes up to Will, a look of complete helplessness shinning in them.

“Don’t fault yourself, Will,” Hannibal choked out, in between short gasps of air, “for being curious.”

Will grit his teeth. “What about alcohol poisoning? Can I fault myself for that?”

A vocalized gag and Hannibal was dry heaving against Will’s chest. Will just held him, letting Hannibal gag against his shirt, feeling every helpless movement as he struggled.

Softly, Will pushed the hair from his eyes, smoothing it behind his ear. Perhaps he had known what he was getting himself into, perhaps he knew his limits and pushed himself past them to satisfy Will’s own curiosity, but looking at him now, face beet red, a look of complete embarrassment set in his eyes, Will knew neither of them had really thought this night through.

“It’s ok, love,” Will whispered, “You’re ok. Don’t worry about the mess right now.”

Hannibal choked and sputtered. He pushed away from Will to spit out a mouthful of saliva. This triggered another deep retch, a thin searing trickle of vomit forced up his throat. Will had a protective arm at Hannibal’s back. He could feel his muscles tense and writhe underneath his palm.

“I think the worst is over,” Will soothed, “Let’s get you away from this. Can you stand?”

Hannibal dry heaved into his hand, the bitter scent of alcohol and vomit overpowering his senses. He was vaguely aware that Will was holding him up. His head hung limp, the effects of the alcohol and the exhaustion that comes from being so violently sick making him weak. He gagged again and it sounded raw. The last remnants of whiskey soaked bile dribbled down his chin and coated his neck.

Will had wedged himself underneath Hannibal’s arm and was hoisting him to his feet. Getting there was a bit of a haze, but somehow Hannibal ended up on Will’s couch, a large plastic bin placed next to him. Finally aware enough to notice Will’s absence Hannibal began to panic.

“…Will?”  His voiced was shredded.

“Hey it’s ok. I’m right here.”

A heavy hand was at his back. Will sat next to him, pressed a cool glass of water to his lips. Gingerly, he took a sip. The water felt icy cold all the way down until it hit his stomach and settled there like a stone. He pushed the glass away and curled onto his side, finding his way into Will’s lap.

“You should try to sip some more water,” Will urged, “Otherwise you’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow.”

“Hmm…I’m afraid…I already feel like shit.”

“I know you do. I’m sorry Hannibal. I’m just trying to help.” Will reached for the blanket thrown over the back of his couch. “I couldn’t get us as far as the bedroom, but maybe it’s better that you sleep here–“  

Without warning Hannibal leaned over the side of the couch to vomit into the bin. Will held onto him by the back of his shirt. He was too weak to pull himself back up when he had finished, head hung loosely over the plastic bin, hair falling into his eyes.

“It’s ok,” Will said, hauling him back up into his lap. “Close your eyes. I’ll be right here if you need to get sick again. Try to rest.”

Hannibal obeyed, letting his eyes slip shut, a small respite from the room that insisted on spinning around him. He let out a muffled sigh as Will started smoothing his hair back from his face, carding fingers through. Will adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and dragged the bin a little closer with his foot.

“Will…” Hannibal’s voice sounded far away as if sleep was pulling him under as he spoke. “I think…I will have to dispose of this shirt…”

Will snorted. “I think I might have to dispose of my kitchen table.”

Hannibal cringed and let out a groan as vivid images of the aftermath flashed in his head. He nestled closer to Will, one arm still wrapped around his stomach.

“Will?”

Will stretched and yawned, the effects of his own overindulgence catching up with him. “Mm hmm?”

“I still think…you have _horrible_ taste in whiskey.”

~~~


	3. Sick as a Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel isn’t feeling very well so Adam takes care of him.

 

~~~

It had started out normal enough, Adam arriving at work a few minutes early to get settled before the day began, just a little time to get his thoughts in order.

The first tour group to come through the observatory was a school field trip. It was a big class, all rowdy pre-teens, constantly interrupting him, giggling and snickering behind his back. Just the size of the crowd alone was overwhelming but the constant interruptions quickly became too much to process. The whole experience had left him feeling raw and overloaded. He somehow muddled through the rest of his day, noticeably quieter, keeping to himself. It was a relief when it finally came time to go home.   

Adam got off the bus a few stops ahead of his, intending to walk the rest of the way. It wasn’t far and he needed the time to clear his head. Everything felt wrong, like being trapped beneath your own skin, prickly and uncomfortable. He kept a quick pace, putting some distance between himself and the memory of the day. The chill in the air burned his cheeks red as he broke into a full run. After the first block his thoughts began to simmer down and he slowed his pace to a jog.

When he was finally able to properly think, he thought about Nigel. He missed the way Nigel held him, sometimes bordering on too tightly, lifting him up off the ground. He missed the way his eyes creased at the edges when he smiled, and he missed his voice, heavily accented words slurred around the filter of a cigarette. The thought of him had Adam smiling to himself, all bright eyes flashing beneath dark curls.

When he finally made it home he sprinted up to the door, taking the steps two at a time. The walk had energized him and by now he was beginning to feel a hollow pang of hunger. It was time for dinner after all.

“Ni?”

Adam closed the door behind him, placed his bag on the chair. The curtains were all drawn and Adam squinted as his eyes adjusted in the dark. 

“Nigel?”

The sound of a long moan punctuated by a rather sad and pathetic whimper led Adam to the couch on the far side of the room. He soon found the source of it. Nigel was curled on his side, face in a tight grimace, long strands of auburn hair covering his eyes. Adam approached with a sense of caution. He took a knee, and as he leaned in his eyes focused on the tiny beads of perspiration dotting Nigel’s forehead, his damp hair sticking to his face in spots.

“There you are,” Adam thought it appropriate to whisper, “Are you hurt?”

“Mmh…not hurt darling,” Nigel said forcing the words from between clenched teeth, “just not feeling too hot…”

Cautiously, Adam reached up to touch the other’s cheek. He pulled away as if he had been burnt.

“You’re burning up.” His fingertips met fevered skin again. Nigel leaned into the touch, pressing his face into  
Adam’s ice cold hands. He mumbled a moan. “You’re feverish, Nigel. You _should_ be feeling too hot.”

Nigel started to chuckle but it was cut short by a sharp inhale and a shaky breath.  In addition to the fever making him uncomfortable his stomach had begun to cramp, muscles spasming and twisting, nausea beginning to burn its way up his throat.

“Have you eaten anything today? I haven’t eaten, well since lunch, and it is time for dinner.” Adam looked down at him quizzically. He took a deep breath and sat back on his heels. “Plus, I’ve heard people say to feed a fever and um…starve a cold I think?”

Nigel started breathing quickly through his nose. He knew Adam was just trying to help but just the thought of food had him swallowing hard.

“I don’t think...that one applies to me right now,” Nigel managed between swallowing, “you go ahead without me, huh Adam…I’m gonna sit this one out…”

“Oh,” Adam leaned forward. Timid fingers grazed against Nigel’s bloated stomach, “Does your stomach hurt?”

Nigel lifted tired eyes to him. He placed a hand over Adam’s, forcing his palm flat against his stomach.  

“Well…it doesn’t feel _good_ ,” Nigel winced, his hand heavy against Adam’s, stomach muscles taught and straining underneath. “Ugh…yeah…it fuckin hurts…”

“M’sorry Ni.” Adam watched as Nigel’s expression relaxed a little, the sudden wave of nausea and cramps having washed over him and then subsided for the time being. “Tell me what I can do. I can help. Tell me what I should--”

“It’s alright love,” Nigel cut him off. “I’m alright. Don’t worry so much, ok? Just...could you help me up?”

Nigel had managed to prop himself up on one elbow but the rest seemed to be a struggle. Adam slipped an arm under his and pulled him to his feet. He was all dead weight and prickly heat against him. Perhaps they had risen too quickly because Nigel paused to suppress a gag into his fist.

“You need to throw up,” Adam said, very matter of fact.

“Ugh…” another gag, this one a bit rougher than the first, “just help me to the sink…it’s closer…”

They made their way into the kitchen, each step feeling like an eternity for Nigel who struggled to keep his last meal from ending up on the floor. When they finally made it, Nigel let go of Adam and collapsed in front of the sink, his arms hanging over the edge, the only thing holding him up. He let out a loud burp.

Adam was struggling to hold him up, floundering a bit at first under the weight of him.  Nigel wasn’t doing much in the way of helping, and finally with a frustrated huff Adam gave up. “What should I do, Ni? Do you need anything?”

Nigel belched again and it sounded sickly and wet. He spit out a mouthful of saliva into the sink.

“Just um…could you turn the water on, love?” His voice was shaky. “And Adam…you might not want to be here for this. It might be a bit…gruesome.”

“Oh no, I’m not leaving you.” Adam was resolute. He turned the faucet on and cold water began to stream into the sink.  “I’m staying right here. Someone needs to watch out for you. You are not well, Nigel. You need me.”

Nigel would have smiled if he didn’t currently feel like dying.

Adam fidgeted next to him as they waited in silence. Nigel moaned and Adam rubbed his back, feeling his shoulders tense as each new wave of nausea washed over him. They stayed like that for quite awhile. Adam was beginning to worry.

A change came over him and Nigel’s breathing became heavy and fast. He stopped fighting. _Just let it happen. Just get it the fuck over with._ He opened his mouth and stopped swallowing. Saliva began to dribble down his chin to be washed away by rushing water.

A cough and Nigel choked, gagging harshly at the end. A thin rush of liquid poured from parted lips splashing into the stainless steel sink.

Adam didn’t turn away. He had started talking to Nigel in the softest voice he could manage, and even though he had begun to ramble nervously, Nigel thought it was kind of endearing to hear the concern in his voice. 

“You should feel better after you throw up.  I always feel better after.  I mean most of the time I--”

“Adam,” Nigel said, his voice already hoarse and his words slurring together, “I’m telling you…you’re not gonna wanta see this.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Adam was stubborn. Nigel fucking loved that about him.

He closed his eyes and his stomach seized, forcing burning liquid up his throat. Furiously, he spit into the sink trying desperately to rid himself of the putrid taste his stomach contents had left behind. The fever was making him horribly dizzy. He opened his eyes again and tried to reorient himself but the room just danced around him. Nigel let his head hang low, the viscous remnants of vomit dangling off his chin.

There was a brief reprieve and Adam kept talking to him, just to make sure he was still lucid. His head hung limp, hair falling into his eyes. The only response was the hum of a moan now and then but at least it was something.

Nigel was vaguely aware of Adam’s hands underneath the water. He flinched as a cool damp kitchen towel was laid across the back of his neck.

“My dad used to do this for me, when I was sick,” Adam said almost absently as if his thoughts were being pulled elsewhere for a moment. “It used to help, when I had a fever.”

“Thank you, love,” The words were squeezed out weakly from between a cough. The cool cloth felt heavenly against his burning skin.

“Maybe you should lie down,” Adam suggested, starting to get fidgety again.

“Mmf…not yet…” Nigel lurched forward to heave bringing up only a thin trickle.  “Not done yet…”

“Ok Nigel, “Adam said beginning to rub his back again. He wasn’t sure what else to do and it seemed to be helping, at least a little.

Nigel gagged hard and the sound was loud and painful to hear as it echoed off the sides of the sink. Nothing came up for such a great amount of effort. He spit into the water, coughing and choking on strands of thick saliva stuck in his throat. He wanted desperately to bring everything up. His stomach felt heavy and full. He gagged again and heaved dryly into the sink, his whole body contorting as every muscle strained to empty himself. Again nothing.

“Ugh…fuck…”

“It’s alright, Ni,” Adam found himself saying, trying to soothe the other, “It’ll be alright.”

Nigel was past the point of being able to respond. He panted between heaves, still feeling like he needed to be sick, but bringing up nothing. His stomach began to cramp and he winced as it spasmed.

Adam was dabbing at his forehead with the damp towel that had warmed considerably in the few minutes it had been on his neck. He ran in under the water again to get it cool and then held it to Nigel’s forehead.

Nigel struggled to focus on Adam, on his blurry wavering presence at his side. He wanted to say something, that he was grateful that Adam had stuck close, and he hadn’t shied away from all this ugliness.

He would remember to tell him later when he could properly talk without feeling the urge to gag.

“Nigel,” Adam coaxed the other back over the sink, from where he had begun to weakly stray. “Do you still need to throw up?”

“M’not sure…”

“It’s ok if you do. I mean, if you need to, maybe it will help,” Adam was rubbing long strokes up the other’s back. Nigel coughed and sputtered into another heave. He gagged weakly, again bringing up very little.

“Adam…I…don’t watch this darling…ok?”

“But Ni,” Adam said a bit indignant, “I don’t mind taking care of you. I want to help.”

“You are helping, love…it’s just…” Nigel thought about it for a moment. He dry heaved again weakly, the cycle of nausea and then reprieve becoming very tiresome. He just didn’t want Adam to have to see him like this.

 “Did I…did I do something wrong?” Adam sounded on the verge of tears.

“No, no, it’s not like that at al--” Nigel’s words were cut off with a gag.

He knew better than to try and talk again. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through him and made his face burn hot.

He was done with waiting. Nigel thrust his fingers to the back of his throat and pressed down on his tongue until he retched. The sound was ragged and harsh. He removed his hand, now slicked with saliva, for only a moment to catch his breath before thrusting two fingers back in. He retched again, sick forced up finally, dousing his forearm and splattering violently onto the far side of the sink.

Almost too weak to continue and on the verge of passing out, Nigel opened his mouth to gag himself again. A fountain of putrid liquid surged up his throat this time and poured from him. He gasped for air at the end, another heave following far too quickly. More came up, burning and thick, splattering back onto his shirt, making a mess of the sink.

He didn’t need to force it now. His stomach willingly gave up everything until he was empty and shaking. Adam looped an arm around his waist before Nigel slumped to his knees in front of the sink.

“Nigel, come on, you should lie down,” Adam struggled to pull the other man to his feet but Nigel was having none of it.

“Hmm…Adam…sweetheart. Just let me die in peace, ok?”

“You have a fever,” Adam said, still coaxing Nigel to get up. “You shouldn’t be on the cold kitchen floor.”

“Just for a minute…while I catch my breath…”

Adam huffed a sigh and finally consented, taking a seat near Nigel, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. “Well, when you feel like moving you’re going to have to help me, because I don’t think I can lift you by myself.”

Nigel sighed, his breathing beginning to slow down slightly, the room still spinning in a sickening swirl. When he could properly breathe again he realized how thirsty he was.

“Adam…some water…please…”

Adam jumped up and rummaged for a glass. He filled it at the sink that was still running and then shut off the faucet. The kitchen seemed deathly quiet now without the sound of water rushing.

Nigel took the cup and drank greedily which in hindsight wasn’t the best idea. Before he even finished half the glass it was coming back up, most of it ending up on his shirt and only some ending up back in the glass.

“Well fuck…”

Adam didn’t miss a beat and took the glass to rinse it and refill it, this time holding onto it even when Nigel regained his composure and reached out to take it.

“Not yet,” Adam said holding it just out of Nigel’s reach. “You can have some after you get up off the floor, ok?”

Nigel looked up at him, his eyes glassy with fever. After an over-exaggerated sigh he relented.  

“Fine.”

Nigel braced himself against the cabinets and slowly tried to pull himself up, at least to his knees. He made it that far before his vision tunneled and he was seeing stars on his periphery. Adam caught him, the glass left to topple over and spill across the linoleum floor.

“You are not fine.” Adam said his voice echoing in Nigel’s head.

“Just...a bit…dizzy…” Nigel heard his own voice as if it was being filtered through water, vision going dark. He was definitely about to black out. There was no avoiding it.

There was a brief moment where his clawed at consciousness. Slowly, he came back from the brink only to have the volume turned up and the room suddenly thrown into focus. Adam was holding him, a bit tighter than was comfortable, and Nigel caught the sound of a sniffle against the side of his face.

By now Adam was completely distraught, half convinced that Nigel was somehow dying and would never wake up. Panic had welled up in his chest tightening in his throat. He only hoped it wasn’t something he did wrong. Maybe he should have taken Nigel to the hospital straight away, maybe he should have--

“Don’t cry gorgeous. I’m alright,” Nigel choked out the words, his throat feeling abused and raw.

“Ni…” Adam wrapped arms around his neck. “I don’t know what to do. Maybe you need a doctor.”

“No doctors,” Nigel growled, attempting again to stand. “M’alight, angel. Just need to lie down, just like you said.”

“Ok, take it slow this time,” Adam coaxed. Underneath his arm Adam managed to bear most of Nigel’s weight, swaying unsteadily for a moment when he was finally upright.

“Fuck, still dizzy,” Nigel grumbled. They took a few steps together, Nigel reaching out to steady himself against the kitchen counter.

“Just hold onto me and take it real slow,” Adam coaxed. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do is Nigel collapsed.

Another few steps. It was slow progress and by the time they made it to the bedroom Nigel was out of breath and sweating, the fever burning him from the inside out.

“Who moved the fuckin’ bedroom?” Nigel mumbled when they finally made it over to the bed, Adam coaxing him to sit down slowly.

“No one did. That’s um…actually impossible.”

“I remember it being closer last time,” Nigel said looking up at Adam with a weak smile.

“Now you’re delirious,” Adam said, worry still in voice, as he tried to peel the soaked shirt away from Nigel’s skin and up over his head. “And you’re shivering. You need some dry clothes.”

Nigel flopped back onto the bed, free of the disgusting shirt. He watched Adam rummaging through drawers, his vision blurring into two Adams for a brief moment. Every movement he made was too quick and left him dizzy and nauseous. Nigel rolled onto his side and hugged his tender stomach. Adam asked him something and all he could do was moan in response.

Adam was coaxing him to sit up, despite Nigel making a proper protest about moving being bad for him right now. A cotton undershirt, made soft by years of washing, was brought over his head and pulled down his back. A few minutes or maybe hours, Nigel wasn’t quite sure anymore, and Adam returned to perch on the edge of the bed.

“I brought something for the fever,” Adam said pushing two small white pills into Nigel’s palm. “You tell me when you think you can swallow them. Oh, and I brought an ice pack.”

Nigel knew Adam was talking to him. He could hear him and see him. Adam’s face, although of bit hazy, was still full of concern, blue eyes intently watching him. He just wasn’t so sure what he was saying at the moment. The ice was brought to his forehead and Nigel shivered when it made contact with his skin. Blankets were brought too, perhaps too many blankets, and Nigel was soon wrapped up in a cocoon of them. Adam disappeared from the room only to return with a glass filled with water and the waste bin from the bathroom lined with a two plastic bags.

As weak as he was Nigel was still quick enough to grab Adam’s hand and stop his little flurry of nervous activity.

“M’not dying, angel. M’alright,” he said, peering up at Adam through half open eyelids.

Adam stopped and then sat down on the edge of the bed. “You should try to swallow those pills,” he said offering the water to Nigel. “They will lower the fever.”

 “Mmm…ok, love. I will do just that,” Nigel said, sliding the ice from his face for a moment to gaze up at his small savior.  Adam’s face was flushed, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He pressed the glass into Nigel’s hand. “You have to do something for me. And you have to promise you will do it.”

“Ok,” Adam said motioning to the glass.

“Go get something to eat, darling. Promise you will stop worrying about me for a few minutes and eat din--”

“But I’m not hungry right now, Ni--”

“Promise.”

“Ok,” Adam said giving in, “I will eat something. Now will you take the pills please?”

Nigel swallowed them both with the tiniest sip he could manage, even opening his mouth at the end to show Adam he had actually taken them. Adam was not amused but perhaps just the smallest bit relieved. He took the glass and let out a sigh.

“Alright, you can go now, Nurse Adam. Your patient requires no further attention.” Nigel said settling back down into the blankets, the ice brought back over his eyes.

 “I’ll be right back. It won’t take me too long.” Adam fused with the blankets, making sure Nigel was adequately covered. He turned to leave and then paused, “But yell for me if you need anything, ok? I really don’t want to leave you alone.”

“It’s alright, gorgeous,” Nigel said, sounding exhausted, “Go eat your dinner. I’ll be right where you left me, when you return.”

Adam clicked off the table lamp next to the bed. One last mournful look was cast in Nigel’s direction before he shut the door behind him, leaving it ajar so he could listen for Nigel’s call. He didn’t make it but a few steps before Nigel called his name.

“Adam…”

He clamored back through the door, flipping on the light. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“I just thought maybe you could grab my cigarettes on the way back up? They’re in my front jacket pocket. Lighter’s there too.”

“Nigel. You’re very sick. I don’t think--”

“I’d love you forever. Please darling?”

“Alright, fine. But only because I don’t want you sneaking out of bed later on your own to get one, and because I love you Nigel and I don’t want anything bad to--”

“I love you too, angel.”

Adam sighed but despite himself a small smile crept into his face. He shut the door, leaving it a crack open just in case, and went to the kitchen to heat up his dinner.

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed these and thank you for taking the time to read them!  
> Please let me know what you think because I live off of feedback and comments <3
> 
> Also tumblr!  
> [jay-sop](jay-sop.tumblr.com)  
> [little-known-secret](little-known-secret.tumblr.com)


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